Page 5 of No Promises
“And satisfied. God, Noosh, have you looked in the mirror? You could have any man you wanted, you know that,right?”
Noosh felt the cold hand close over her heart – the way it had ever sincehim. “I don’t want a man. I’m fine the way Iam.”
Allison harrumphed, unconvinced, but was distracted by her phone beeping. “Oh, here we go. Senator Papps has announced. Thought that might becoming.”
Noosh wondered if her shock was visible on her face. “DestryPapps?”
“Yup. Mr. Smooth is running for President, and the way I hear it, he has a pretty goodshot.”
Noosh felt sick but covered her distress by tidying up their dinner things. “That’s not something we’ll cover though, right? I mean, politics isn’t really in ourremit.”
Allison brushed crumbs off her pants. “Not directly, but Papps is popular with women. Good-lookingguy.”
Noosh felt her face burn. “Not mytype.”
Allison, missing Noosh’s red face, chuckled. “Well, he’s a bit too polished for my taste too, but each to their own. Hey, are youokay?”
Finally, she had noticed that Noosh was looking sick. Noosh nodded. “Justtired.”
“Well, let’s get you a cab – god, it’s way past eleven, Noosh, why didn’t you say? You must think me a real taskmaster.” She smiled at her young friend. “Sweetheart, take tomorrow off, and Monday. Have a long weekend, and get some rest. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how much work you put in here – it is very much appreciated. I don’t often say this, but these last few months you really have made me excited about this jobagain.”
As she satin the backseat of her cab on the way to her apartment, Noosh concentrated on Allison’s compliments. It felt so good to hear her heroine, her idol, her mentor say those things to her, but still, the evening had been tarnished by the thought ofDestry.
God…
Noosh felt like throwing up, imagining him as President. Of course, if anyone could stop that, it would be her. She could tell a thousand stories of his hateful, vicious personality. His violence…his threats to killher.
But even if anyone actually believed her, going to the press or the police would be as good as signing her own deathwarrant.
As she trudged into her apartment, making sure the deadbolt was on, she realized a hard truth. If Destry ever found her…she had no doubt she would be dead. Why the hell had she come to America? Tohishome? Was it spite? Was it to hide in plainsight?
No.Fuck him.It was to pursue her dream of being a radio journalist – to work with Allison – to have something for herself. She had already lost so much because of him… Seeing her parents, for one. She missed them so much and lived for the phone calls to the burner phones she replaced every week. Her friends back in London, her extended family in Mumbai. All of them were out of bounds now, because of the chance Destry might use them to find her. Even at work she used a pseudonym for her writing credits – Sarah Marsh. Something completely unconnected with her realname.
Noosh lay on her bed, staring sleeplessly at the ceiling. To live under a death threat was still unreal and yet all too real to her. It made her angry, and full ofsorrow.
She rolled onto her side.You know what? Iwillgo the club, and maybe Iwillfuck some random guy there…because IcanDestry. It’ll bemychoice. Screw you and your political ambitions. If I hear one–just one story–of you treating another woman like me, I’ll go public, and hang theconsequences.
I will bring your house of cards down, even if it costs me my ownlife.
ChapterThree
Bertie glancedover at his friend. Christo was drinking steadily now, his handsome face set in anger. He had been like this ever since that terrible night at his father’s house, and Bertie was worried. Christo had never been a big drinker, and to see him throw back expensive whiskey as if it were soda was wrong somehow. Between the two of them, Christo was usually the down-to-earth one, the one who would prop up Bertie after a night out, the one who would stop drinking before the hangover setin.
Now, though, his friend was on a knife’s edge, and Bertie didn’t know how the hell to pull him back from it. He sat up as Christo lurched from the bar stool and staggered towards the door. “Dude, where the hell are yougoing?”
“To get laid.” Christo shot back darkly, and Bertie sighed. That was the other thing. Endless women – a different one every night for the last few weeks. Christo waking up in a stranger’s house every time, from which Bertie had to pick himup.
“Christo, I’m flying to LA in the morning. I won’t be there to pick youup.”
Christo stopped at the door, turning to gave his friend a sad smile. “You’ve been picking me up too many times, my friend. It’s time you let me fall where I need to, even if it’s thegutter.”
Bertie was surprised at how lucid, if depressed, his friend sounded. He got up and went to him. “Come on, Christo, let me take you home instead. Get somerest.”
Christo considered but then shook his head. “It’s okay, Bertie. I’ll go to my club…they know how to put me in a cab. I need to fuck, Bertie. I need to get this rage out somehow, and fucking is the least destructive way I can thinkof.”
Bertie sighed. “The women are okay withthat?”
“They just want to fuck too.” Christo, his green eyes sad, looked away from his friend’s scrutiny. “Let me go, Bert. I need to do this my way. I’ll come out of it, Ipromise.”
